


Ke ‘ā maila i Kīlauea

by kenporusty



Category: The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Aidan as Pele, Alternate universe - Hawaiian mythology, Because Pele is a goddess, Dean is a virgin sacrifice I guess??, God/dess rape, M/M, also Hawaiian sweet rolls are bangin, and Aidan is clearly male, gender bend, non-con, wait for the sunshine and rainbows version of this, yeah if that triggers you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:59:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenporusty/pseuds/kenporusty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something that came out of a comment thread of Turner. Universal_Acid placed the idea of Aidan as Pele, ThornyHedge encouraged it, and this was born.</p>
<p>I don't know where the non-con came out of of.<br/>I'm working on a sunshine and rainbows happy version of this story.</p>
<p>Title lifted from "He Mele no Lilo"....Lilo and Stitch's title song XD</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ke ‘ā maila i Kīlauea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Universal_Acid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Universal_Acid/gifts), [ThornyHedge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge/gifts).



> Title means "Burning bright at Kileuea"
> 
> I mean no harm or mean to imply anything like this has ever happened to anyone involved. It's just a story, man.

From the fire pit crater of Halema’uma’u Crater at Kīlauea, the fire goddess Pele pulled herself from the smoldering hole, perching on the rim, gazing towards the university and tourist town of Hilo. Something was down there calling her there.

Dean O’Gorman relaxed on the beach in front of his hotel, under a garish umbrella, taking a break between surfing and snorkeling and generally relaxing and being a tourist. He checked his watch. He still had hours until he needed to shower and dress for his gallery opening later this night. More time to soak up the familiarly unfamiliar tropical sun. Hawai’i had a different quality of tropic from New Zealand. Something about being closer to the equator. The tropical plants everywhere and the beaches full of tourists and college students was certainly familiar, as was the relaxed pace in which time flowed.

Pele dressed as a beautiful Hawaiian girl: taller with brilliant dancing abilities, a deep knowledge of all the chants and traditions, fluent in the language of her people, wise words for other, and an open caring heart. The perfect girl, in Pele’s mind. She ignored the men and women catcalling her as she walked onto the beach, scanning the sea of anonymous faces that paid her as much attention as she gave them.

She found the man that made her burning heart flame a little hotter, and she didn’t care about the tendrils of smoke that escaped her sleek hair.

“Hello,” she stopped in front of Dean and looked down at the shorter man reading a book.

Dean looked up, “uh hi. Can I help you?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to take a walk or go swimming,” she said, taking the bold course of talking first, as was the goddess’ prerogative. “My name is Lana.”

“Sorry, Lana, I’ve actually got to be going soon,” Dean lied.

The goddess stalked off wordlessly, leaving small pieces of glass where the heat of her anger shocked the sand under her feet. Once in a secluded spot, she disappeared in a wisp of smoke, reappearing in the crater, letting the skin of Lana melt off her.

Clearly, the object of her obsession, of her affection, the shining point that constantly drew her attentions to Hilo, was not interested in the female form she typically wore.

So ‘she’ became ‘he;’ an attractive young man, straight hair that threatened to curl at any moment, talented, tall, and strong. Still strong with the knowledge of dance and chants, an excellent fisherman, and politely respectful. Pele may be attracting a man, but there was no reason to give up on her ideals. Dressed in board shorts and an open Hawaiian shirt, Pele affected the name ‘Aidan,’ which she believed would be more attractive to the man.

Dean packed up after Lana left, going back to his hotel room to shower and change before going out to eat. Something about her put him off, he couldn’t quite tell. Perhaps a good think in a long shower would help.

But the shower only served to drive home the point that he didn’t use adequate sunscreen and was slightly burnt. The rough towel made him hiss, and he was thankful he thought to buy some aloe. Just more proof that this tropical was entirely different from his home. Dean dressed in khaki cargo shorts, a white tee, with an open button-down over top, grabbed his keys, and left for the lobby.

He spotted the man sitting in the lobby armchair soon as he stepped out of the elevator. Something about the man felt familiar, but it also felt comfortable. He approached the man in the armchair with a confused look.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Dean asked.

The man looked up at him with dark eyes and hair threatening to curl and smiled, “not really, no, but if you’d like to know me, I was about to go grab a coffee.”

“Mind if I tag along? I was thinking about grabbing a bite. The name is Dean, by the way.”

The man stood up with fluid grace, “Aidan, nice to meet you.”

They left the hotel, making small conversation about their homes, their lives, what brought them to Hilo. Aidan lied and said he was a student at the university. He stopped at the first small coffee shop and held the door for Dean. Aidan got a coffee, but never touched it. Dean got a sandwich on the sweet rolls he was starting to love.

“What’s wrong, Aidan? You keep looking off to the southwest.” Dean asked catching the fifteenth longing look cast in that general direction.

“I feel like I should be getting home soon.”

Indeed Pele felt the pull of her crater, of her home. She longed to melt back into the fires that brought her such comfort, and she desperately wished to rid herself of the skin of Aidan and the feelings that came with it.

“I hear you. Head on home then, thanks for keeping me company,” Dean nodded. “Hey, I have a gallery showing tonight, I’d love to see you there. If not, want to meet again around the same time tomorrow?”

Aidan smiled. Dean’s heart fluttered as his face cracked in half in pure joy. “I would really like that. See you later then.”

Aidan took Dean’s hand and pressed a warm kiss to the back of it. Dean idly rubbed his fingers along the warm spot until Aidan disappeared down the street.

****

Dean hated the opening nights for his galleries. He hated wearing the suit, making polite small talk, and fielding all the questions. He was a photographer, not a public speaker, but nonetheless he had to be there.

A dark-haired man with olive skin and resonant brown eyes flecked subtly with the gold of fire walked into the gallery, glance sweeping through the people and across the photographs recreating the Vietnam War and the desolate looks of the models dressed as soldiers. He spotted Dean and hurried across the room, plucking a glass of white wine from the long table laid with hor d’oeuvres.

“Aidan, glad you could make it,” Dean reached out to shake Aidan’s hair. “I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

Aidan reached up and touched a knot of hair at the crown of his head, as if he needed a reminder.

“Yeah, it’s much easier to take care of like this.” Aidan smiled, reluctant to release the hand of the man who drew him from his volcano to the land of the mortals.

Curse this mortal man. Pele found himself in love with a mortal.

“Have you had a look around?” Dean waved his hand at the framed prints hanging on the walls.

“I saw them when I came in. They’re very good, Dean.” Aidan flashed a blinding smile at Dean.

Dean thought he saw a few tendrils of smoke drift from Aidan’s hair, and the strange red streaks shift and writhe, but he shook it off, telling himself it was an effect of the lighting. Aidan followed a few steps behind the smaller man, pressing warm fingers to Dean’s shoulder as he talked energetically about the inspiration behind each of the photographs and his techniques to capture the emotions perfectly. Aidan was perfectly fine with letting the small creature talk for now. He added small noises of agreement or comments where needed, focusing most of his attention on not taking Dean off to Kīlauea at this moment.

Finally, they reached the last photograph and Dean looked up at Aidan with a smile.

“Very nice gallery,” Aidan leaned and pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead. Dean flushed pink and looked around self-consciously.

“I have to leave, but how about we climb Kīlauea tomorrow? Have you been to the volcano yet?” Aidan said softly.

“Not yet, I was hoping to do so before moving on to the mainland.”

“Perfect. There is a bus that runs out there, and I’ll meet you in the parking lot, yeah?”

Dean couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

Aidan said something in Hawaiian and left. Dean checked his watch, wondering when he, too, could escape. Mid-thought, he was assailed by another group of well-dressed people and asked all sorts of questions.

When he finally did get back to the hotel room, all he could think about as he ran his hand over his cock was Aidan and those intriguing eyes.

****

Dean stepped off the bus in the parking lot of the National Park. He paid his fare to get in and stood at the edge of the lot, squinting in the bright sunlight, trying to pick out Aidan from the sea of tourists. He didn’t have his DSLR with him, but he did have a compact with him, just in case he saw something worth shooting.

The entire island was worth shooting. Dean could spend months here and never tire of the scenery.

Aidan trotted up to him, hair up once more, crown of flowers around the top of his head, wearing the same baggy shorts and open shirt Dean saw him in the day before.

“Aloha, Dean!” He greeted with a smile.

Unlike the times in Hilo, here, Aidan seemed to be roiling with energy. Dean liked it. His blood thrummed as Aidan pulled him into an energetic hug.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” Dean said, fishing the camera out of his pocket.

“Hey, do you mind?” Dean flagged down a rather sun burnt woman and handed her the camera. She took the camera and framed Dean and Aidan together, Aidan’s arm draped over Dean’s shoulder.

“Smile,” she said and snapped a few pictures, frowning at the first couple.

“Sorry mister, there must be something wrong with your camera. Your friend there came out looking all weird.” She apologized, handing the camera back.

“Thanks anyway,” Dean said, going to review the pictures. Indeed, for the first two pictures Aidan was not Aidan, he was a figure made of lava and flame.

“The sun must have overloaded the sensor,” the words of a knowledgeable man in denial.

Aidan shifted uncomfortably, taking off towards the path that led to the crater rim.”

“Wait up!” Dean laughed, stowing the camera again and chasing after him.

Halfway up the path, Aidan passed him a lukewarm bottle of water.

“Everything is so warm or hot with you, what gives? Like you’re made of fire or something.” Dean frowned.

Aidan shifted again, “I’m not being entirely truthful with you, Dean.”

“What? You’re going to tell me you’re a fire sprite and I’m caught in some poorly written story?”

“Close. Come with me.”

Aidan grabbed Dean’s wrist and in a flash they were off the path, on the other side of the mountain. Aidan was not Aidan anymore, not completely. Aidan’s hair wreathed with flame and his eyes flickered with the colors of magma.

“I am Pele, goddess of fire and volcanoes, and I have chosen you to be my mortal consort.” Aidan’s lips curled into a cruel grin.

“What the fuck, Aidan? Are you high? And how the fuck did we get here?” Dean backed up. He felt his foot start to give way and shifted.

Aidan grabbed him, hands burning his forearms.

“I have the power to kill you, to burn you alive. You will give me what I want, as a being far above you, it my demand and my right.”

Aidan threw him onto the ground, dropping after him to straddle his hips, pinning him to the warm rock. He dipped his head and kissed Dean roughly, taking what was his. Strange weight kept Dean from sitting up, from overpowering the slim figure, from throwing off his assailant and running for the path down or running for the lower slopes. Aidan’s fingers worked fast. Dean’s shirt was open, Aidan’s tongue on his nipples, hot to the point of burning. Aidan stripped him of his shorts and underwear, fumbling to pull his own hard cock out of his pants.

“Aidan no. Pele, please, I beg you. Just let me go. Just let me go,” Dean sobbed, reduced to a humiliated mass on the stones.

Aidan slid home, Dean writhing and crying beneath him. Dean tried to push the god above him away, but found himself rooted to the rock below.

“I will not burn your mortal body to cinders if you submit to me. The gods and goddesses get what they desire, or else we have every right to destroy until we are pleased. You are not a native of this land; you do not understand us. I have been to the mantle and to the core of this little world and heard the stories of your kind.

“Pathetic little beings with a singular god and a love of science. Forever they probe my skin, watching me, waiting for something, taking readings. People these days, mortals these days do not understand the rights of the gods or how to honor them.” Aidan…Pele spat as he moved within Dean.

The fire of the god within him dulled the pain of his invasion. The rocks below gave off a pleasant warming heat, yet when he tried to move, tried to lift his head or back, they kept him there.

“I am taking this as my offering. I would not anger me, for I will destroy this nice civilization you have built up. Then I will come after you again in New Zealand. I will follow you to the volcanoes there, and one by one they will erupt with my fury until I am sated and pleased.”

Dean made small whimpering noises in the back of his throat, squeezing his eyes shut against the vision of Aidan above him and against the tears that streamed. He felt utterly humiliated. On a secret slope of a foreign mountain, being taken advantage of by a man who claims to be the Hawaiian goddess of fire.

“I am Pele,” Aidan hissed, reading Dean’s pathetic thought-cries. “And by every right, you are mine.”

The god’s hips jerked erratically, nearing his completion. A few more thrusts and he buried himself, coming into Dean, filling the mortal with strange warmth that flooded his abdomen, his back, his chest, and made his vision swim. For a few seconds, the vision behind his eyelids swam red and gold, the color of lava and flame.

Aidan pulled out and kissed Dean’s forehead. Dean found himself able to sit up, and jerk his shorts back up. He turned and watched the retreating form walk towards the rim, losing pieces of himself as molten lumps of magma, solidifying once they hit the ground.

By the time the form disappeared in the mists, he was only a wisp of smoke.

Dean curled into a ball and cried himself dry.

He lost track of time on the slope, curled on himself, berating himself inwardly and outwardly for becoming the victim he never wanted to be.

Sunset announced itself with a golden flare and Dean sat upright in surprise. What would he do now? He couldn’t make it down to the parking lot in the dark; it was too dangerous to be off the path at night. Even if he made it down safely, how would he get back to Hilo?

He supposed he could make it to the small town they passed through on the bus here. They would have a police station.

And what? Report the Hawaiian goddess of fire raped him? Who would believe him? He would just be another tourist, probably drunk, ranting again. He would be locked up for the night, and released in the morning to drag himself back to his hotel room and continue his holiday.

He picked up a good-sized rock and threw it down slope, happy at the clattering noise, yelling to the night that he was a fucking idiot.

Dean drew his knees to his chest and hugged them tight, dropping his forehead to his knees and sobbing again.

A searing, but not burning hand fell on his shoulder. Dean jumped and looked up to the man behind him, burning in the night, dark hair streaked with the flame color he spotted earlier in the sunlight.

“Pele. Aidan. Whoever the fuck you are. Come back for more? Well here I am. You’ve already broken me, you can’t do anything worse.” Dean jerked away, standing on shaky legs. The God of Fire shook its head, the flames dancing out from that obsidian hair, and grabbed Dean’s hands, pressing two small glowing figures into his palms.

Figures of living, writhing magma that shimmered with glassy obsidian and unformed diamond; hot, but not uncomfortable, to hold that spread warmth through his limbs. He looked at the figures: a bird with a curved bill and an unfolding hibiscus flower. Aidan leaned in, pressed a chaste kiss to Dean’s lips with a sad look, and walked back to the crater.

The bird moved on its own, hitching its way up the front of Dean’s shirt, perching on his shoulder and began to sing: an exotic, melodic, beautiful song that put Dean’s mind at ease, allowing him to sink back to the ground. As the hibiscus in his hands unfolded, the warmth spread, combining with the bird’s song to cause Dean to become very drowsy. Part of him wanted to throw the figures away, to cast them down the mountainside, but the rest of him refused to let them go.

Dawn shocked him away, the morning sun warming chilled limbs. During the night the bird stopped singing and the flower cooled.

Now they were just an ‘I’iwi clinging to his shirt, plumage glassy snowflake obsidian with hints of tiny diamonds, and a pumice hibiscus, delicate as the real flower.

Carefully he dislodged the bird, holding it as he would a live thing, afraid it would spring to life as he walked towards the crater.

He wanted to put them down. To walk away. But he couldn’t.

Dean needed some sort of closure. And the bird and the flower refused to be set down, refused to be abandoned and ignored. Something in his mind refused the very idea. He hurt, he was sore, his mind roiled, and he locked away his feelings from even himself, but physically, the pain was not as great as he thought it would be. Mentally, he would need time to heal. He would have to escape the strange tropical island sooner than later.

He coughed, cleared his throat, and spit against the acrid stink of sulfur at the crater’s rim.

“Pele!” he yelled, his voice lost to the wind. “I’ve come to speak with you.

Aidan appeared from the glowing magma below, dressed in a wrap, stick-straight hair down to his shoulders, the crown of flowers back, and several leis shifting as he walked towards Dean.

“Only one would dare to ask things of me without the requisite offerings and prayers,” the goddess said coldly, sitting on the rock beside Dean, patting for him to join. Dean studied the figure. Aidan’s face and gait with a clearly feminine physique. When Pele spoke again, he heard a split sound between Lana and Aidan.

“I will forgive you this time,” Pele’s voices blended to be melodic in the strange way Hawaiian and Maori were foreign and beautiful, “If only because you come from a land where my cousins are loved as much as myself.”

Pele traced its finger along the ridge, sending molten rivulets into the crater.

Dean held out the bird and the flower. “Thank you for giving me these last night. I wouldn’t have survived without them. Not after what you did,” he said softly, coldly. Pele laughed and the magma jumped in the crater below.

“You return a gift from a goddess? How foolish you must be! No, those are yours, they are to remind you of your time on my island, and to whom you belong.” “I belong to know one,” Dean growled, “much less a temperamental goddess who cannot just ask for what she wishes.”

Aidan wrapped Dean’s fingers around the stones. Dean looked up at the goddess, now indeed Aidan once more, and jerked his hands back. Aidan’s fingers left small trails of burnt skin along his hands to match where he had gripped him the night before.

Dean managed to stand and turn his back.

“Can I apologize for yesterday? Can I ask forgiveness? I approached you wrong.” Aidan said softly as Dean walked away.

Dean stopped. He didn't turn around

“I don’t think so. You hurt me. I will hurt for a long time, and I will likely never return. And then you give me gifts by which to remember your cruelty? What I will remember is the dangers of the volcanoes. I will tell everyone to tread carefully and if they meet a man or woman in the street with fire in their hair and flames in their veins then to just walk away.”

Dean turned to give Aidan one last look. The goddess in male form sat melting into the rim, a truly remorseful look on his face.

Dean turned his back on the goddess. He found himself on the path once more. Her last gift to him.

Dean called his agent and cancelled the rest of his appearances. His gallery would travel on without him, across the United States, into Canada, Mexico, and Europe.

Dean went home, to New Zealand. He placed the ‘I’iwi and the hibiscus on the mantle and tried to move on. He worked odd jobs for magazines and travelogues, but declined every job for the Hawaiian Islands.

Every night, the bird sang and the hibiscus glowed, though much fainter.

On clear nights, Dean felt the sensation of being watched, and sometimes, the bird and hibiscus glowed brighter.

Aidan sat on the rim of Rangitoto, watching the lights of the entirely strange tropical island so far from the equator, knowing that Dean was in the nest of electric lights and traffic noise. Somewhere in that man-made forest, sleeping under the watchful eye of his gifts.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing Hawaiian mythology just makes me wish my plans to go to U Hawaii HADN'T fallen through. I could be there now, learning linguistics and Hawaiian.
> 
> And avoiding Pele.


End file.
